Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/302

298 :::When I hade him beat what could not ring,
 * Then tottered first my wits.

She spoke, and on the face of the evening pool
 * A wave stirred.

And out of the wave A voice spoke.


 * (The voice of the Gardener is heard; as he gradually advances along the Bridge it is seen that he wears a “demon mask,” leans on a staff, and carries the “demon mallet” at his girdle.)

I was driftwood in the pool, but the waves of bitterness

Have washed me back to the shore. Anger clings to my heart,
 * Clings even now when neither wrath nor weeping
 * Are aught but folly.

One thought consumes me,
 * The anger of lust denied
 * Covers me like darkness.
 * I am become a demon dwelling
 * In the hell of my dark thoughts.
 * Stormcloud of my desires.

“Though the waters parch in the fields
 * Though the brooks run dry.
 * Never shall the place be shown
 * Of the spring that feeds my heart.”
 * So I had resolved. Oh, why so cruelly
 * Set they me to win
 * Voice from a voiceless drum,
 * Spending my heart in vain?
 * And I spent my heart on the glimpse of a moon that slipped
 * Through the boughs of an autumn tree.

This damask drum that hangs on the laurel tree Will it sound, will it sound?